


The dreams in which I'm dying (are the best I've ever had)

by darkmoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/pseuds/darkmoore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd promised they'd kill him before he could go darkside again. Before he became a demon again. But something went wrong with that plan and now Dean needs help, or all is lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The dreams in which I'm dying (are the best I've ever had)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the H/C bingo on LJ (prompt: sacrifice). Huge thanks go to my beta Brumeier, who encouraged, helped, held my hand and cheered me on. In fact, I wouldn't have written this at all if it wasn't for her. THANK YOU! You're amazing!
> 
> The title is taken from the "Mad world" lyrics.

Dean blinked, slowly. He felt dizzy and disoriented; completely out of tune with his surroundings. Where was he anyway? Oh, right, his room. In the bunker. But what had happened? The last few minutes – or was it hours – were hazy to the point of nonexistence. What day was it? What time? And what was that smell? Coppery and sickly sweet somehow and just …

His hands felt sticky. Why were they sticky?

Dean looked down at his hands, at his clothes. They were covered with blood and he was still clutching a huge knife. His shirt and pants were soaked through with even more blood, slowly drying. 

Panic settled into Dean’s stomach and he dropped the knife as if he’d been burnt. He needed to find Sammy. His brother would know what to do, how to fix … whatever had gone wrong. Because this wasn’t Sam’s blood, it couldn’t be Sam’s blood…

Heart beating wildly, Dean ran into the corridor and towards the main area yelling, “Sam? Sammy? Where are you?” But Sam was nowhere to be found. 

When the kitchen and Sam’s room turned out to be empty as well Dean made his way over to the holding cell, the room they’d locked Crowley in and in which Sam had locked him up, too, when he’d turned into a demon. 

The door to the cell stood open and a first glance inside made Dean’s breath catch in his throat. The room looked like a slaughterhouse. 

In the far right corner Sherriff Mills and Charlie lay in a huge pool of drying blood, their sightless eyes already clouding over. It looked like their throats had been slit. 

Behind the chair that stood in the middle of the room lay Castiel, unconscious and dying if the pale light seeping out of the countless cuts on his body was anything to go by. An angel blade lay bloodied by his side, abandoned. 

To the left, right next to the door, Sam sat slumped against the wall, breathing shallowly. His face was bloodied and cut up. One eye swollen shut completely, the other purplish blue and crusted with blood. He stirred slightly when Dean stepped into the room and made a sound of distress, but Dean knew he most likely wouldn’t be able to speak a single comprehensible word.

Dropping to his knees in front of his brother, Dean tenderly cupped Sam’s face in his hands. “Sammy,” he said, tears stinging in his eyes. “Sammy please hang on. I’ll get help. I’m gonna fix this somehow. You’re gonna be alright, just hang on, okay?” 

Dean brushed a strand of hair away from Sam’s face. When he looked at his own hand, covered in dried blood, touching Sam’s face, it was as if a switch was flipped. 

_“You won’t stop me this time. No one can. I’m a knight of hell and I’m done playing nice.”_

Dean’s gaze slipped over to the bodies of Jody Mills and Charlie Bradbury. He remembered slitting their throats and then tossing them carelessly into the corner. He remembered grabbing Sam and hitting him over and over again until he lost consciousness, the mark of Cain on his arm like a fiery brand demanding he spill his brother’s blood. He remembered Castiel who tried to intervene, who tried to stop Dean from becoming the murderer of his own brother, but who was too weak to withstand Dean’s fury with only the stolen grace to sustain him. 

Dean had cut him up slowly, deliberately, with the angel blade. He’d had enough time to practice the art of torture while he’d been in Hell, putting souls on the rack. The demon in Dean had been gleeful to get the chance at hurting an angel. He’d tried to make sure Castiel would suffer as long as possible. 

But then, suddenly, the demon in Dean had been pushed back and Dean had run, only to find himself in his own room, disoriented and without a clue as to what had happened.

Until now. 

Dean’s stomach heaved and he scrambled frantically backwards, away from Sam. “No. No, no, no, no, no. I can’t. This isn’t. I did this. I killed them. I. No. They promised. They promised to kill me before I could hurt anyone.” 

Thoughts were whirling in Dean’s head, pictures and emotions overwhelming him. He sobbed, his throat tight and burning, and the tears that had been stinging his eyes spilled over. He needed to get help for Sammy. He needed … he needed to find someone to kill him. He needed an angel. Any angel would do, really. Right about now he’d even make do with Metatron if it meant that Sammy would get to live and Dean stopped being a threat to the people around him. 

Staggering to his feet, Dean sat down in the chair and cuffed himself to it with the demon warded handcuffs. He’d make sure he wasn’t able to hurt anyone, should the demon in him take over again. Dean just couldn’t take that risk. When he was sure that his arms were secured firmly and he wouldn’t be able to free himself even if he wanted to, Dean raised his face heavenwards, hoping for a miracle. 

“Help me, please!” he shouted, the words ending in a sob. “Please, I beg you; I need someone to help me. Sam and Cas are dying. I need you to fix them. Please, just … someone save them. And kill me. That demon took over again and I’m dangerous and I don’t want to hurt anyone any more. Please, won’t someone come help me?” Dean was crying uncontrollably now, great, heaving sobs wracking his body. 

No one would help him and Sammy would die, because of Dean. And Cas would die, too. 

Suddenly a bright light blasted in from the open door. Dean would have covered his eyes if he’d be able to lift his arms that high, but he couldn’t. Instead he turned his head away and squeezed them shut, waiting for whatever angel had arrived to take action. 

When the light ebbed away to a bearable level Dean slowly opened his eyes again, ready to plead with the angel to save the lives of the people he loved, and to end his own. What he saw took him completely by surprise. 

“Gadreel?” Dean asked, confused. Gadreel was dead, wasn’t he? Castiel had said he’d sacrificed himself to save Heaven. He shouldn’t be there. And he also shouldn’t look like he’d stepped out of a video game or a cliché movie, either. No angel Dean had ever seen looked like this. 

Gadreel was wearing shiny silver breastplate armor and some sort of white uniform. His wings – angel wings that were nothing like the ones Dean had ever seen – were made of beautiful white tendrils of light that gently moved behind him. In his right hand was a huge broadsword that was gleaming silver and seemed to glow from within. 

The angel stepped closer and gave Dean a solemn nod in greeting. “Don’t be afraid. All will be well. Father has sent me to set things right.” 

“You telling me God is back?” Dean asked him, breath still hitchy from crying. 

“He never really left,” Gadreel said softly. “But if you are asking if Father is back in Heaven, then the answer is yes. He has been taking care of the chaos.” 

Dean needed a moment to wrap his head around that concept. God had never been gone? But ... but where had he been, and why hadn’t he stepped in when everything had gone to hell, sometimes quite literally?

Before Dean could ask any of these questions Gadreel walked over to where Sam was lying slumped against the wall, barely conscious. He placed his hand softly on top of Sam’s head as if in benediction and in a flash of light Sam was healed and alert. Even his clothes were cleaned from the blood. Sam looked at Gadreel, eyes wide with surprise, but was apparently too startled to ask any questions. 

Without waiting for Sam to recover his speech Gadreel next walked over to Castiel’s unmoving form and Dean had to crane his neck to see what he was doing. Kneeling down, Gadreel placed his sword on the floor next to Castiel and pulled something out from under his chest armor. It was a softly glowing phial and Gadreel opened it and poured the contents – Castiel’s grace, Dean realized – into Castiel’s mouth. 

“Wake up, brother,” Gadreel said tenderly and brushed a strand of hair from Castiel’s forehead. The cuts that had marred Castiel disappeared and his eyes snapped open. Unlike Sam, Castiel reacted instantly. 

“Gadreel? What happened? Where …” he looked down himself and put a hand to his chest where he could doubtlessly feel his own grace once more residing inside him. “Where did you get my grace from? How are you even here? I saw you die. You sacrificed yourself. And Dean …” His eyes sought Dean’s face with a look of dread and sorrow. “Dean is not well and neither of us has the means to help him.” 

“I will help him,” Gadreel said and stood before reaching out his hand to help Castiel up from the floor. “Father sent me to assist you and take this burden off Dean. But first I must bring these children back to us. By Father’s orders.” He smiled and picked up his sword. 

Dean’s thoughts whirled. Gadreel wouldn’t kill him? Did he really have the power to take the mark away? Lore said it could only be transferred and not just removed. Maybe Gadreel meant something else? Maybe he would alter the mark? Was that possible? And what did he mean with bringing the children back? He surely didn’t mean…

Dean couldn’t really see what Gadreel was doing since he had kneeled down in front of the bodies of Jody and Charlie, blocking out Dean’s view, but he could hear him whispering some Latin words. A moment later both women seemed to be alive and well again. 

That just wasn’t possible, was it? Angels didn’t just run around and bring people back to life. He had to be hallucinating. This had to be a dream or some fucked up solution his mind had come up with when faced with the reality of having killed his friends and his own brother. Yes, that had to be it. All an illusion. Nothing real. 

“I have to wake up. I have to clear my head,” Dean murmured and pulled roughly on the handcuffs that were binding him to the chair. It hurt, the metal biting into his wrists, cutting them open. Not asleep then. That left hallucination. But how would he come out of that? What could he do?

“Dean!” Sam shouted. He’d obviously found his voice again and was moving towards him. So was everyone else, apparently, because in an instant Dean was surrounded by people. His family, his friends and an angel he had thought he hated but now felt deeply grateful to. No matter if this was a hallucination or not. Dean hadn’t quite figured out why his befuddled brain had chosen Gadreel of all people … angels … as his savior in the time of need but fact was right at that moment he loved that guy for coming to the rescue. Which obviously meant Dean was going crazy. Well, more crazy than he already was. 

When Gadreel stepped right in front of Dean the others moved back slightly to give him room, watching. “Thanks for helping them. I really messed up this time,” Dean said and took a deep breath. He nodded his head in the direction of the huge sword Gadreel was carrying again and asked, “What now? You gonna kill me with that big ass sword of yours? Last time I checked an angel blade didn’t do the job, so is this more powerful? I don’t mind, I swear. I just want this over.”

“I’m not here to kill you, Dean. I told you, I’m here to help. What kind of help would it be to kill you as a thanks for all your sacrifices? Is it so hard to believe that I’m not here to do you harm? To deceive you? I’m here to tell you that Father loves you very much and that he regrets having to put you thorough all of this in his quest to find important answers. But your trials are over now. He wishes to make it up to you for all your suffering.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right. I’ve never even met the guy. It’s not as if he’s a buddy of mine or anything. Why would he care what happens to a lowlife like me, huh? I mess up all the damn time. Just look at the disaster you had to clean up here. Story of my life, really; I fuck up and people die. I’d really appreciate it if you could put me out of my misery now instead of giving me the chance to kill more of my friends … or Sammy. So what’s it gonna be?”

Everyone started to talk at once, protesting, but Gadreel silenced them with a wave of his hand. He looked at Dean with an expression of regret and compassion that had Dean’s insides flipping uncomfortably.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Gadreel said, “but you have not been weighed and found wanting. You are not being judged. Why don’t you let someone protect you for a change? You’ve sacrificed more than enough. Time to let go of the past.” He grabbed Dean’s right hand and pressed it firmly against the hilt of his sword. The soft glow from within the sword grew and it seemed as if tendrils of light wrapped around Dean’s forearm and the mark of Cain. 

Dean watched as the mark faded, leaving nothing but smooth skin behind. It hadn’t hurt. It hadn’t even tingled. Certainly nothing like the pain of receiving the mark in the first place. 

“You are free of this threat,” Gadreel said and smiled at what Dean thought must have been a pretty damn stupid expression on his own face. 

“But that shouldn’t be possible,” Sam chimed in, stepping forward until he stood right beside Dean. He touched Dean’s arm, right where the mark had been until a moment ago and stared, open mouthed. Dean knew the feeling. He had exactly the same thought. 

“Father wants to let you know that he’s making the rules, he can damn well change them if he likes to. That was a direct quote by the way. Oh and that you will be receiving the newest copy of the Winchester gospels shortly. He’s not been idle and he’ll drop by for a visit as soon as he’s sorted out business in Heaven.” Gadreel smirked and he looked happy and quite amused now. 

“You’re kidding me,” Dean said, shell-shocked. “Chuck? But-”

“I have to go now, Dean,” Gadreel interrupted him. He touched the handcuffs that were still securing Dean’s wrists and they fell away. “You will find tickets for an extensive luxury cruise on the kitchen counter. Father called it a small thank you for all you’ve done. He says to not worry about the hunt while you’re gone. He’s got it covered.” Gadreel smiled again and said, “Goodbye for now.” 

Then he was gone. 

Dean stared at his arm, now free from the mark, and then at his brother and friends in turn. He’d need some time to wrap his head around the events of today. But in the end all that mattered was that no one had died today, after all. Dean’s sacrifice was over.


End file.
